A Custom Fit
by ylime620
Summary: "Maybe you and I are just too choosy. We're both waiting for a custom fit in an off-the-rack world." (Inspired by this quote from 8x14)


_This is my attempt to "show, not tell." I've been using a lot of passive voice in my stories and talking about the characters "realizing" things. Hopefully this prose is a bit cleaner and different from my other stories. Let me know what you think!_

Margaret sat on the bench outside the OR and sighed with relief. The chatter of the surgery drifted through the tent's thin walls. She untied her mask and watched it fall to the ground.

 _It's no big deal_ , she thought. _I'll just get a clean one when I go back in_.

She didn't want to go back in. Going back in was the _last_ thing she wanted to do. She had spent twenty hours in surgery and this was her first chance to sit down. Right now, the cold, hard bench felt like a luxurious feather bed.

"Major!" Radar called for her.

She groaned as she stood and grabbed a clean mask.

"Coming!" she replied. Margaret pushed open the doors to the OR.

Hawkeye smiled when she walked in. "I've got the perfect man for you, Margaret," he teased.

She made her way to his table. "I don't trust you when you make a comment like that."

"See for yourself."

She did. The patient before them was a chest case, Hawkeye's specialty. Margaret was the only nurse he trusted to handle heart surgeries.

"Looks like you were right, doctor," she said with a smile. She pulled on her gloves and picked up the first instrument from the tray. Hawkeye took it from her hand and made the first incision.

"Am I imagining things Margaret or did you just agree with Pierce? Enthusiastically, I might add," Charles asked incredulously.

"Oh, Hawkeye and Margaret agree on more things than you'd expect, Charles," BJ insinuated with a smile.

"Excuse me. We're both trying to work here," Margaret insisted, ignoring their comments.

"She's right," Colonel Potter observed. "Shut up, you two. That kid's in bad shape."

"They're all in bad shape," Hawkeye said so softly that only Margaret heard him.

The two worked in silence for hours, long after the others had left the OR. The usually talkative Hawkeye stood over the boy in front of them in quiet concentration. Margaret anticipated his every move, accompanying each step with the exact instrument he needed. Margaret played both anesthetist and assistant as the evening wore on.

The daylight faded, filling the room with the harsh light from the surgical lamps overhead. This was the first time they had worked together in silence for so long. Now hours into the surgery, Margaret was reluctant to break that silence. She concentrated on the other sounds in the room. The ticks of the clock on the wall grew louder with each passing moment. The anesthesia machine pumped up and down, keeping the patient unconscious but alive. The lights buzzed and flickered at the whims of the the camp's generator. And loudest of all was Hawkeye's measured breathing, rising and falling in a steady and comforting rhythm.

* * *

Seven hours later, Margaret stepped outside into the fresh air. The camp was dark and quiet, the only sounds a low buzz from the camp's generator and the hum of local insects.

Hawkeye came up behind her and touched her shoulder.

"Good work," he said softly.

"You too," she replied. "But why were you so quiet?"

"I was wondering the same thing," he remarked.

"Oh, I just assumed _you_ didn't want to talk. Looks like we misread each other's minds," Margaret gave a little laugh.

"It's certainly not the first time that has happened."

She smiled. "I kind of liked it, though. That was some of your best work, doctor."

" _Our_ best work," Hawkeye emphasized.

"Right. Our best work," she agreed.

"Do you want to take a walk?" he asked.

"I thought you were going to suggest a drink, but yes, a walk sounds good," she smiled.

"We could definitely get a drink too," he suggested.

"That sounds like a lot of time together, Captain. Are you sure you can handle me for that long?"

"If I'm not tired of you after seven hours in the OR, I think I'll be able to survive a few more minutes."

"Maybe."

They strolled across the dark compound, passing an unusually quiet mess tent.

"What were you thinking about earlier?" Hawkeye asked, breaking the silence once again.

"The surgery, the patient, the seconds ticking by, the way the light changed as the sun set."

"That's a lot to be thinking about."

"Yeah, it felt like some sort of exercise in contemplation," she laughed a bit. "What about you?"

"The sound of your breathing," he replied honestly. "It was almost hypnotic. I think I focused more on that patient than I had in months."

The doors were closed, the music was off, and the club was empty when Hawkeye and Margaret reached their destination. Hawkeye walked behind the bar and Margaret hopped up on a stool. She smiled at him.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're much better looking than this place's usual bartender?"

"I have been assured that I am not an Igor look-alike. It was quite a relief when I discovered that."

"Well, handsome, what do you got for me?"

Hawkeye placed a shot of whiskey in front of her. He raised an eyebrow suggestively, as though daring her to refuse.

Margaret looked at it warily. She took a deep breath and downed the shot quickly. Hawkeye refilled her glass and then poured a drink for himself. He walked around the bar and took a seat on the stool next to her.

They sat beside each other, silent once again. Freed of the need for concentration, Margaret relaxed. The air was filled with possibilities as they each waited for the other to speak. Hawkeye swiveled his stool to face her. He placed his hand on hers.

"Should we talk about it?"

"About what?" Margaret asked.

"All of it. This place, these people, those boys."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Margaret turned her palm up and laced her fingers with his.

"Your hands are rough," she observed.

"It's been almost a year and I'm still not used to days like today."

"Hawkeye, that's a good thing. I know how tough this place is. Do you remember a kid named Parker? He died a few months ago. One of the girls who spent a lot of time with him said something that still sticks with me."

"What?"

"When she heard the news, she didn't react. All she said was, 'I don't feel death anymore. It's just death.' Hawkeye, you work so hard to make sure you never believe that. I'm proud of you. I know I couldn't do it. I have to push this stuff pretty far down to get through it. Lots of us do."

"I'm getting close, though."

"Please don't let that happen. You're a great surgeon _because_ you care so deeply. Working with you today proved that."

Margaret looked down at their still entwined hands. She gave his a small squeeze and let go.

The bar was much quieter than usual and if a pin were to drop they would hear it. Hawkeye's garrulous personality was out of place in that moment and he wisely kept his wisecracks to a minimum.

Hawkeye stood up and extended his hand as though asking her to dance. Margaret hesitated.

He led her over to the jukebox.

"You pick," he suggested.

Margaret smiled as her eyes scanned through the choices. Doris Day, Rosemary Clooney, Bing Crosby, and Frank Sinatra all stood out.

"I can't decide."

"Just close your eyes and type in a number."

She chose 56.

They laughed when a loud polka came through the speakers.

"Sure, that was a great idea," she joked as she rolled her eyes.

"Let's give it a try anyway," Hawkeye said goodnaturedly.

They took a few hops back and forth before they both burst into laughter.

"This is ridiculous," Margaret insisted.

"Maybe, but at least we're smiling," Hawkeye pointed out. "Let's try something else."

He walked over to the machine and chose a sweet, slow song. He turned back around and took her hand in his. Margaret smiled and stepped closer to him. She laid her hand on his shoulder and he put his on the small of her back.

The bar was nearly dark. The glow from the jukebox and a small light behind the bar were the only things brightening up the room. The room was quiet, but it was a much different quiet from that of the operating room. The generator wasn't quite as loud on this side of camp and there was no anesthesia machine to rise and fall.

Hawkeye wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. She laid her head on his chest and felt the rise and fall of his breathing. It was as hypnotic as it had been a few hours before and she closed her eyes.


End file.
